


Fix You

by mouschie



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouschie/pseuds/mouschie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman Reigns is a certified expert at picking up the fragments of his mentally unstable lover. What does he do when he's the one to shatter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> I've written for so, so long, but I'm fairly new to the site. That being said, any messages or critiques are appreciated.

Roman tries to forget. So desperately, he tries. 

The Samoan is the current figurehead and lapdog of the WWE industry. He’s a shiny new toy upon their shelf – encased within glass and seemingly untouchable. He glistens within the ring for fans and hecklers alike. 

Roman Reigns drums three fingers on a small shot-glass dangling in his grip. He rescued it from the clearance section of some sleazy dollar store during a drive through Tennessee. The liquor ventures harsh and bold down his throat, and he almost has to force it with an extra swallow into his stomach for good measure. 

He’s wasting his time, he thinks, trying to erase the scalding remembrance of “innocent” hands cupping his shoulder-blades. When he chases the flame of vodka with a vigorous swallow of Coke, he can’t hear the voice as loudly anymore. He can drown it for a night, be pathetic and reckless.

The next morning, he’ll still wake up the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. The guy. He’ll wake up to promotional ideas pitched by Hunter crowding his e-mail inbox, and a text message confirming his booked flight to their next venue. Predictable and certain, Roman Reigns will wake up to those things. 

But, will he wake up next to Dean Ambrose? 

Sure, Dean’s leather jacket might be halfhazardly tossed over the hotel chair. It could be practical to assume so with two travel-sized toothpaste tubes sitting out on the bathroom counter. They bickered for approximately 20 minutes earlier over what times to wake up in the morning and where to eat. 

All of these were signs, that yes, he can expect to wake up beside his lover. 

Roman Reigns couldn’t believe his own logic, however, forcing down another distasteful swallow to make his stomach lurch. 

He couldn’t keep his demons at bay, couldn’t get outside of his head. These were concepts his lover was supposed to understand - not him. Dean had his mental instabilities, and Roman was always there to quell his anxieties. He was the ever-present force in Dean’s life, holding his head and serving as his backbone. Roman recognized than nobody could quite maneuver their way around the emotional walls his partner constructed. If anything, he prided himself upon knowing how Dean worked, how to communicate with him, how to love him unabashedly. 

He should be the strong one. He isn’t. Not right now. And it kills him, so he kills himself inside for it. 

When Dean comes to Roman, he smells of almonds and vanilla, washing the ring-scent from his skin. Damp hair hanging in front of his eyes, he sees well enough to notice Roman at the small hotel office desk, almost curled in upon himself. When he pieces the parts together, he doesn’t joke or chastise. Dean Ambrose feels his heart swell as Roman sinks into his waiting arms, coughing back a sob. 

“It’s alright, babe, it’s alright.. Look at me, okay?” his lover coos as they sit in a crumpled mess, wedged awkwardly between a hotel bed and office desk. Roman’s hiccups smell like soda, but Dean kisses him soft and reassuring anyways. He holds his lover’s face in his hands, and reminds him to breathe. Whenever Dean touches him somewhere, no matter how light, he’s flinching and squirming like he’s being touched by the filth of a stranger instead. 

Dean grounds him from the panic, the memories, and the realization that he isn’t Superman. He reminds him that he’s just as safe with him as Dean is with Roman, that it works both ways. That the sick fucker is in jail and won’t hurt Roman ever again. 

They swim together in an ocean of uncertainty and reluctance, feeling as though something invisible divides them. Dean is terrified of making the wrong move and scaring Roman off, and Roman fears more than anything, being too weak for Dean. Everything is scary and unknowing for minutes, until Dean is helping him off the ground he’s sank his knees into. A steady hand against his back and a chair for support, Roman manages to collapse against one of their beds. The alcohol swimming through his bloodstream makes everything so fuzzy, he can’t tell where Dean ends and he begins. 

Dean is there behind him, hot breath grazing over his shoulder and needy fingers caressing through long strands of hair. He whispers sweet words full of promise and warmth, reassuring Roman that he's allowed to fall apart and be human. 

Eventually, Roman's eyelids grow heavy, and his mind grows quiet knowing he will certainly wake up next to Dean Ambrose.


End file.
